Warm Hearts
by CatastrophicMeltdown
Summary: Why did they love them? There were so many reasons... Multiple pairings.
1. GerIta

__**AN:** This is the first chapter in a series about various pairings in Hetalia. I have several pairings planned, but I haven't written them out yet.

Updates will likely be sporadic once I've run through the "usual" pairings.

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><p>I love Ludwig.<p>

I know there are many people, like my brother, who look at us and wonder why we're together. What could I possibly want in a strict and controlled German like him?

But they don't know everything. They don't know that he always welcomes me with a smile – however small – when he sees me at the door. Or that he always has room for me in his bed when I get scared by a nightmare or the loud noises of a storm.

Even though he always has that stern demeanor around others, when it's just us he never tries to hide his smiles from me. No matter how small they are I always know he is just happy to spend this time with me, as I am with him. I smile enough for the both of us anyway.

His strong arms are my heaven. When I'm worried or scared or just want to relax, his arms are open before I even ask, sometimes before I even know I need them. They surround me with their warmth and strength, and I forget that anything else exists for a minute. Or an hour. Or a day. I just burrow my head into his chest and listen to the steady beating of his heart, and everything else seems much less significant.

He's always there when I need him, waiting with a small, absolutely beautiful smile and open arms.

His food isn't as good as mine, and he can be overbearing and overprotective at times. He has an obsession with keeping his house clean and tidy, and it takes a long time for him to get comfortable with new people. But he never complains when I get tear stains or pasta sauce on his clothes. He is not above smearing my cheek with flour when we make pasta together. He just sighs and hands me the soap when I sneak into his shower almost every morning, offering to do my hair as I melt into the pleasant heat of his body. He makes love to me like I'm the single most precious thing in the world.

The others don't see this and wonder how on Earth we even got together, much less lasted so many years.

But I know. And I love him for it.

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><p>I love Veneziano with everything I have.<p>

Even though some scoff at us, or look at us like we're a curious exhibit that just shouldn't be possible, I do. And I know he does, too.

Veneziano is everything I'm not. He's loud, always smiling, and always running away from a fight. He's absolutely obsessed with pasta. He would strip in public if I let him.

They all look at us and think, "they're too different," or "how does he deal with it?"

But what they don't know is that I _love_ that about him. I love how he's so comfortable in his own skin. How happy you can make him by giving him a plate of pasta. How he always makes sure to smile enough for the both of us, and how he's always running to me when he's fleeing from a fight or frightened.

I love that odd verbal tic he has, and that adorable curl that never obeys the laws of gravity like it's supposed to. I love how adorable he looks when he's prancing about the house, dusting with an apron and a kerchief to keep his hair back. I love waking up and feeling every one of his limbs curled around mine. I love the red flush he gets when I pull him into bed.

I'm a workaholic, and he's lazy. But he always greets me with a kiss and a delicious dinner after a long day at work. He always seems to know exactly what I need when I need it, sometimes pulling it seemingly out of thin air before any sound even comes out of my mouth. He grabs my hand and forces me to dance with him, but we both know I'm not really being forced.

Some see him flirting with every pretty woman that walks by and shake their heads in pity, but I know that it's just a game to him and he always comes home to me and me alone. Some give us odd looks when they see us together, Veneziano always doing something that is just... _Veneziano._

He's everything I didn't know I needed until I met him.

And I'll be forever grateful that I stopped and took the time to open that box of tomatoes in the woods.

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><p><strong><span>AN:<span>** So what did you guys think? Should I continue?

If you have any pairing suggestions, I would love to hear them. They might inspire me! :)


	2. FrUK

**AN:** Part 2! This time it's FrUK.

Francis was _so hard_ for me to write. If he's terribly out of character I apologize.

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><p>He's bloody annoying.<p>

Sometimes he just acts like a complete idiot. Always striping at the first chance he gets, and trying to get _me_ naked in public. Always making fun of my food. Always ignoring me when I say I'm a gentleman and shouldn't do such-and-such thing. Usually, he just goes ahead with whatever he was trying to get me to do in the first place – which often involves sexual molestation of some kind. Just being an all around annoying prat.

But... I love him.

I can honestly say I don't know _what's_ wrong with me. The man's an absolute nuisance. Maybe my head hit the deck a few too many times back in my sea days. Maybe Alfred's right and those scones _are_ dangerous to my health. Either way, I love him.

Sure, he's been a thorn in my side for as long as I can remember. Sure, he has absolutely no sense of propriety. But he's an absolute sweetheart.

He's always there when I need him. When I'm sick, he's at my bedside with a cooling cloth in hand. When Alfred turned his back on me, even though his people had helped, he came to me and gave me a place to cry. During the Blitz, he held my convulsing body down and put his belt in my mouth as the others worked on shooting those bastards out of the sky.

Nowadays, he keeps me entertained at world meetings. He's always ready to spar with me, whether with words or weapons. I'm quite sure there are plenty of people who either think we hate each other or have some _serious_ unresolved sexual tension.

We _definitely_ don't. Trust me. That's just the way we work.

He always finds a way to _make_ time when I need him. He carries Pierre around because he knows when I say, "you look stupid," I'm really saying, "he looks cute there." Even though he molests me at inappropriate times, I must admit it makes me feel like I'm attractive. Like I'm wanted. Even when I lost all my land, he didn't look at me any differently. He didn't look at me like I was worth less. He just kept attacking me like nothing had changed.

He's also a great cook, which I must admit is a relief. I would hate to be forced to cook _every_ meal.

Oh, don't give me that look. Trust me, I _know_ the man is impossible. I know he doesn't know what the word "no" means. But I also know that he knows the difference between flirting and cheating, and that he has never once in his life – even when drunk off his arse – crossed that line. I know that he protects what's his fiercely.

And I know he loves me back.

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><p>He's stuffy. And very stiff. And he can't cook.<p>

He curses like it's the end of the world. He sees magical creatures and practices magic – even though he botches his spells most of the time. He doesn't appreciate fine champagne.

But he's mine.

He's fiery, and knows how to take down a man that's larger than him. Poor Antonio didn't even know what hit him. But he's also kind, and always willing to help out when asked. He can always spare a smile and a helping hand for the younger nations if they need it.

He's incredibly strong. Not physically – Alfred's got that in the bag – but in how he can pull himself together after a hard hit. I was terrified during the Blitz. He was convulsing and bleeding under me as I tried to keep him from hurting himself, but within a week he was back on the battle field, ready to kick that German right back to his homeland.

He's there for me before I even ask him. He holds me when I need someplace safe, and throws insults when I need to get back on my feet. Somehow he always knows which one I need.

I've seen the looks people give us. They wonder what kind of relationship we have: frenemies or a severe case of UST? It couldn't be a _loving_ _relationship _after all. What kind of lovers throw insults the way we do?

But honestly, I don't know what I would do with myself if our relationship didn't have a little bit of fire in it. We fight all the time, it's our thing. He takes me down a peg or two, and I get him the next round. He curses me out the door, and I come back with flowers and another insult.

He claims that Pierre is a silly animal to keep, but I see the way his eyes light up when he pets the bird when he thinks no one's watching. And he knows I know. Still, our image is a fun thing to keep up.

He can be annoying, what with his stuck-up ways. Sometimes I wonder if the man really knows how to have fun. He doesn't appreciate fine cuisine, but I can honestly say that I don't blame him. If I had to eat those... _things _he calls food, I think my taste buds would have been irreparably damaged as well.

But he's still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I sometimes wonder what I did to deserve him. His expressive green eyes, that messy hair that doesn't really listen to him. That kind heart he hides behind his aloof personality. Those _eyebrows_. Funny, but incredibly sexy.

… Don't ask me why. They just are.

And even though he riles me up, rubs me the wrong way sometimes, can't cook worth a damn, and can get sloshed enough to rival the Germans, I love him, and he loves me back just as much.

Plus, the sex is _amazing_.

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><p><strong><span>AN:<span>** And that's part two! Reviews are love. :3


	3. PruAus

**AN:** Part 3! PruAus! :D

I experimented a bit with this one. I probably shouldn't do that when sleepy...

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><p>The man is my complete opposite.<p>

He's loud, brash, and doesn't appreciate real music. He doesn't know how to dress and is constantly harassing me at inappropriate times.

We spent centuries fighting each other, and yet today finds us as lovers.

_I_ don't even know how it happened. The wars ended and so did his country, but he still remained. He flitted between my house and Ludwig's, getting even more in our way and being even more of an annoyance than before. He soon started spending more time at my place, eventually spending almost all his time there.

Eventually I realized that he had moved into my home without my notice. He slept in my guest room almost every night and had his own dresser of clothes in there as well. The guest bathroom had been overrun with his products and the kitchen stocked with his favorite foods.

I was baffled. How had I not noticed him slowly contaminating my home?

I was stubbornly in denial until the end.

I kicked him out. I still feel incredibly bad about it even now. He came home from a day out with the rest of the Trio to find his belongings neatly packed on the lawn and a cold stare daring him to try to come in.

He slumped and picked up his bags. The look on his face hurt me, even through my denial. It wasn't often his face held such genuine pain, and I opened my mouth – to say what, I don't know – but he'd already left.

I missed him. Without Gilbert running around and wreaking havoc my home wasn't the same. Too quiet. Too... dim.

Hungary eventually took pity on me, hitting me over the head with a frying pan and sitting me down to talk some sense into me. She forced me to see what had been in front of my face for so long, but that I had so stubbornly denied.

I loved him.

I loved the man who drove me absolutely insane, who I had warred with for so long, and who had become a cherished friend in the years since the war's end. The one who would invade my personal space, tamper with my belongings, and make me laugh. The one who was my complete opposite, and yet my perfect balance.

It took forever to track him down. Even with Ludwig's directions, it was hard to find the out-of-the-way bar. He was already well on his way to drunk, and it didn't take much to get him to come home with me.

I brought him home and Elizaveta, bless the woman, had already moved his luggage into Gilbert's commandeered guest room. She smiled proudly and left as I laid him on the bed.

I stood with him that night, and when I woke and he kissed me with laughter in his eyes I knew I would stay with him for every night to come.

...Even when Gilbird shared our pillow.

...Or he tampered with my instruments.

…Or he did something he said was "awesome" when it was really "stupid."

… Or he...

Why do I love him again?

Oh, that's right. Because he's Gilbert. And because he's _mine_.

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><p>The man's a total priss.<p>

He spends an hour in front of a mirror every morning, doing his hair and making sure his clothing is impeccable. If I hadn't seen proof of it myself, I would've wondered if he was really a guy.

… Shut up. I blame Hungary for making me suspicious.

Anyway, Roddy is such a priss, but totally awesome in his own way. He makes great sweets, gives _amazing_ back massages, and is totally willing to have kinky sex with me.

I'm not sure, but I think that last thing is the best part of this whole ordeal.

Hey, don't give me that look! Oh fine, I love him for a lot of reasons, okay?

Even though he's a total pushover, he's got a lot of inner strength – even when he's conquered, he doesn't submit. Trust me, I learned that the hard way. He's kind, and a real nice guy once you learn to ignore that cool "gentleman" exterior. Whenever he cooks, the food tastes amazing because he knows just the way I like it. And even though I make fun of him for it, I'm grateful that he knows how to sew, because it's saved many a favorite pair of pants.

I love when he gets lost in his music. He looks so peaceful when he does, gently swaying to the beat of the music. As the strains of piano flow through the room I'm enraptured by his movements and aura of calm. The only other place I'd rather have him is in my arms.

But he's also very stubborn. When we don't agree (which is often), neither of us gives ground. We push and shove at each other until we either reach a compromise (helped along by a certain frying pan-wielding psycho) or fall into bed.

Even when his stubborn denial hurt me all those years ago, the only thing I could think was that he looked beautiful standing tall in that doorway. Even though it hurt when he pushed me away like that, the only thing I could think was "don't you know how much I love you?"

I hadn't planned it. At first I had been going between his and Ludwig's house equally, trying to annoy them both as much as possible. It's so much fun to see the normally composed Germans lose their cool.

But then I started spending more time at Spec's place, and before I knew it I had practically moved into his guest room.

I may be a little dense at times, but I'm not an idiot. I sat myself down and thought hard about exactly _what_ I was doing invading Roderich's house. It didn't take me long to figure it out.

And it hurt. I thought he would never love me the same way, and him kicking me out only made the wound deeper. I wallowed in beer until Roddy decided to stalk into my bar and convince me to come home with him. I'll admit, it wasn't hard. I was sloshed at the time.

But when I woke up and realized that it wasn't an alcohol-induced dream, I couldn't stop myself from kissing him when he finally opened his eyes.

And he's never forced me from our home again. Just to a different side of the bed.

I don't really know how it happened. We spent _centuries _at each other's throats. He's organized and clean, I'm not. He spends more time on his appearance every morning than I do in a week. We disagree on everything from music to clothing to what's for dinner. Our solutions to just about every problem differ. We're total opposites, but we balance each other out.

Yin and yang, I think West said. Two parts of the whole, opposite but the same.

It's sappy, yeah, but I can't think of a better description at the moment. I love Roderich, and he loves me. In my awesome opinion, that's really all the explanation needed.

Also, Gilbird approves of him. That's a major plus in my book.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Reviews = love! Feedback is much appreciated. :3


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